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The face he turned up to the troubled sky, the quivering of his
clasped hands, the agony of his figure, remain associated with the
lonely waste, in my remembrance, to this hour. It is always night
there, and he is the only object in the scene.

'You're a scholar,' he said, hurriedly, 'and know what's right and
best. What am I to say, indoors? How am I ever to break it to
him, Mas'r Davy?'

I saw the door move, and instinctively tried to hold the latch on
the outside, to gain a moment's time. It was too late. Mr.
Peggotty thrust forth his face; and never could I forget the change
that came upon it when he saw us, if I were to live five hundred

I remember a great wail and cry, and the women hanging about him,
and we all standing in the room; I with a paper in my hand, which
Ham had given me; Mr. Peggotty, with his vest torn open, his hair
wild, his face and lips quite white, and blood trickling down his
bosom (it had sprung from his mouth, I think), looking fixedly at

'Read it, sir,' he said, in a low shivering voice. 'Slow, please.
I doen't know as I can understand.'

In the midst of the silence of death, I read thus, from a blotted

'"When you, who love me so much better than I ever have deserved,
even when my mind was innocent, see this, I shall be far away."'

'I shall be fur away,' he repeated slowly. 'Stop! Em'ly fur away.

'"When I leave my dear home - my dear home - oh, my dear home! - in
the morning,"'

the letter bore date on the previous night:

'"- it will be never to come back, unless he brings me back a lady.
This will be found at night, many hours after, instead of me. Oh,
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